Denim and Chocolate
by Piper Brandybuck
Summary: There were a lot of things that Lindsay Monroe liked about Danny Messer. One-shots with everyone's favorite chocolate candy.
1. Denim and Chocolate

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York, Danny Messer, or Lindsay Monroe. **

There were a lot of things that Lindsay Monroe liked about Danny Messer. A lot of things that she couldn't even begin to describe if asked. Like how it was that the first time he kissed her she lost her legs. She couldn't remember how to breathe sometimes. And there wasn't any scientific explanation for that.

But there were some things that she could tell you she liked, things that you could see. Because, to be honest, most human beings were that vain and naive that they had to look at face value first. If there's not some sort of attraction, even if it's just a bit, why would you bother having a relationship short of platonic best friends?

That was the best part about their relationship. He was her best friend. And it hadn't taken long before she'd realized that he was really attractive. And besides that, sometimes she couldn't help but laugh when the scruff on his upper lip would meet her skin in a kiss that was just the exact place to elicit said laugh.

She couldn't deny that she loved the fact that he wasn't anything like Montana boys. A whole breed of his own, she'd say. She'd been to Staten Island. She'd been to nearly every nook and cranny of New York City, and that was saying something. And she could never seem to find someone quite like him.

But one thing she couldn't ever manage to get past was the way Danny dressed. She hated the fact that he could wear blue jeans and a long sleeve shirt to work nearly every day. Mostly she hated it because she knew how much she really loved it.

Suffice to say, Danny Messer in dark washed out denim was quite the turn on.

And it was sort of distracting. She could keep her head most of the time, retreat to the break room for coffee and try to settle her hormones down after she'd relayed her information, but sometimes he really got to her.

Something about denim.

"Danny?" She mumbled. She didn't exactly want to draw attention to the fact that she'd been paying such close attention to his jeans, but at the same time she was rather curious. Call it an over active mind due to being a crime scene investigator. Perks of the job.

"Montana?" He responded, with a lift of his eyebrows. And somewhere in the back of her mind she had to admit that the action was _very_ sexy.

"What's on your pants?" She couldn't stop herself from laughing, the question coming out so entirely bluntly. Danny looked down at the dark smudges near his pockets, trying to get it off.

"I think it's chocolate," he answered, still scraping at it. Then he stopped, a pause, and looked up at her. "Wanna taste?"

"You seriously expect me to lick chocolate off your jeans?"

"That's not actually what I had in mind," he grinned at her, "but if that's the way you want it, g'head." A light blush graced her features as he moved closer to her. Maybe she shouldn't jump to conclusions. She crossed her arms, refusing to give into him.

"I'd rather not, Messer." She laughed. Always the best way to cover up a blushing face, a frenzied thought pattern, and a wildly beating heart, right?

"You don't know what you're missing, Montana." And with that he stuck his chocolate covered finger into his mouth. And sucked. And then pulled it out slowly, with careful precision, making absolutely certain that he had every last bit of chocolate off his finger. In the mean time, Lindsay had had to turn away, completely vexed by the image of Danny Messer licking chocolate off his fingers.

He was teasing her. And somehow that didn't seem fair.

She didn't think through what she did next. She didn't want to. She never would have done it if she'd taken the time to realize what exactly it would mean. And maybe she didn't even realize what she was doing until she was halfway through it. But she wasn't one to be outdone.

So when Danny Messer found his finger inside of Lindsay Monroe's mouth, he was more than a little surprised and a hell of a lot turned on. His look of surprise had quickly changed to a grin, and before too much time got away from them, they were already running out of air.

The thing was, Lindsay Monroe always knew there was a reason she liked denim and chocolate.

_X-posted to livejournal._

_Born out of the fact that I need a place to put any random nonsense I write about Danny/Lindsay. The rating probably doesn't need to be as high as it is, but I'm just being on the safe side. Um...I came up with title first, and you can probably tell. Chocolate because, hey, they're M&Ms (in the words of Adam Ross: What up!), and denim…well, I can't be the only one who's completely in love with Carmine in jeans, right?_

_:) Let me know what you think! Especially because this is the first time I've really written anything with Lindsay…_

_-Piper_


	2. Man on a Mission

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York, Danny Messer, Lindsay Monroe, or Mac Taylor. Strongly based on **_**Man on a Mission**_** by Peter Cincotti.**

Danny Messer was on a mission. He left the New York Crime Lab on a Thursday evening with the sole intention of spending his evening and, hopefully, the entirety of the next day with the lovely Lindsay Monroe. She was on call the next day, so he did want to get his hopes up. He planned on making the most of the night.

They were good at that. Working time for themselves around the time for work. Finding that tiny little break to steal glances and exchange heated kisses in the elevator, behind the file cabinets in the break room, down the hallway to the locker rooms, behind an elaborate set of computers in the lab. But sometimes Danny needed more. And if he wasn't mistaken, so did she.

But he wasn't going to know anytime soon. He hadn't thought it was as late as it actually was. He entered his apartment to find his girlfriend on the edge of his bed, completely asleep. As much as he wanted to wake her up, he couldn't help but just marvel in the face of her beauty, head on, while she couldn't distract him with her eyes or facial expressions. And he couldn't bring himself to wake her up, she was calm, content. Peaceful.

And it was just like her to lay on the very edge of his bed, so as not to disturb anything. She'd been waiting for him. It just took him too long, apparently. Besides that, she'd been working around the clock; too, she'd only gotten off a few hours before him. His lips turned upward in a light smile as he kicked off his shoes, took of his gun, his badge, his belt, his shirt, and climbed into the space beside her.

It wasn't difficult to pull her toward him without disturbing her. His arm now securely trapped beneath the weight of her body, he placed a kiss lightly on her forehead and settled in for the night, disappointed, yet content.

What seemed like five minutes later, though in all actuality it was already Friday morning, he woke up to the sound of a phone. It was fairly early in the A.M., but the sun was beginning to peak through his window shades, painting a thin line of light across their tangled legs. Danny's eyes didn't open until he felt her presence gone from beside him, felt her weight gone from his arm, which, he presumed, as he could feel it, was indefinitely asleep.

When he did open his eyes and sat up, shaking his arm as subtly as he could manage, he found himself face to face with the deep set eyes of Lindsay Monroe. She looked exhausted still, but there was a sorrow, a remorse, an apology in her eyes. And he didn't have to hear her say it to know that she had gotten the call.

"Montana," he groaned.

"Sorry, Danny," she murmured, quietly, fumbling at the foot of his bed for, he presumed, her boots.

"Play hooky with me today," he murmured, propping himself up on his elbows. She paused in mid-action. She had been zipping up her boot, but that was of little consequence when your boyfriend asks you to spend the day with him in bed. Because that was exactly what Danny Messer was doing.

"Danny," she drug out the syllables of his name, standing up and stealing glances back and forth between her phone and his expectant face, as if the answer would suddenly become apparent, just like that. "You know I can't."

"What's the worst Mac'll do?" He asked, raising his eyebrows.

"I don't know," she stated, sarcasm dripping from her voice. "Suspension from work, get taken off field work, get _fired_."

"Mac might be a hard ass, but he wouldn't fire you for skipping out one day." He let himself fall back on his bed. He was still tired, he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. But, at the same time, there had been worse days than this. And he still _really_ wanted an evening with Lindsay. Uninterrupted. "Tell them you've got the flu. Or you've got really important family business or something." Lindsay laughed, and he let his eyes follow her as she went to look out his window.

"I can't tell them I've got the flu, Messer," she stated. "That takes a lot more than a day out of you."

"Okay, food poisoning, then," he shrugged it off. He watched her biting her lip, her resolution fading. Maybe she wanted this just as bad as he did. He hoped she wanted this just as bad as he did. Nothing he'd been hoping for, longing for had faded since the night before.

She rolled her eyes as she looked at him smirking. He had her, and she knew it as much as he knew it. She had her boots off and was crawling back into his bed after a quick flurry of her fingers across the keypad of her cell phone. And she couldn't help but grin. And he grinned in response.

Because today he was going to find the woman that was buried inside of her, the woman fighting to get out of the workplace, the woman he'd fallen in love with. Today he was determined not to lose any time, and that included the time for words. They didn't need words. Today he wasn't going to let her worry about work, about family, about the logistics of their relationship.

She smiled as she leaned up to kiss him, her fingers trailing over his chest as his wound their way into her hair. Today was the day that he would finally unravel the mystery that was Lindsay Monroe.

And he'd be damned if he let anyone stop him.

_X-posted to livejournal. Shocker._

_Is it wrong that I like using their full names? Probably. Because it probably gets a little tedious to read. Oops. Hm. I don't know. You should definitely listen to the song if you get a chance…;)_

_**afrozenheart412:**__ Thanks! I wasn't sure about her…and the chocolate craving…I get that, too. :) And don't worry, Donnie's not going anywhere anytime soon._

_**Crycrys: **__Hm, I'm afraid that'll probably happen a lot. But then you get to leave a lot up to your imagination, right? ;) Thanks for reviewing!_

_**Texansweetheart:**__ Just let your mind wander…;) Thanks for the review!_

_And thanks to anyone who's reading!_

_-Piper_


	3. Whatever It Is

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York or Danny Messer or Lindsay Monroe. Heavily based and inspired by Zac Brown Band's Whatever It Is. So I don't own that, either.**

There was something about her. And Danny never seemed to be able to put it into words. Whatever it was was so completely indescribable that there were no words for it. Nothing that could fully encompass everything about her. There wasn't a single word, and there weren't even a string of words.

Words, sentences, paragraphs, novels would never be able to describe just how he felt about her, what she made him feel, the things she did to him just by appearing. He couldn't even turn to foreign languages of the world, Italian, French; supposed languages of love couldn't even scrape the surface of defining her to him.

There was something about her.

So when she'd asked to dance, a rarity for Lindsay, he'd been entirely unable to resist. And he found himself looking for those impossible words. He wanted her to understand, wanted to show her the truth of it all. He couldn't find the words, but he could try. He could start at the beginning and work his way to the middle - the middle, because they had no end.

He smiled, a happiness that came just from being near her engulfing him in that sudden, surprise sort of way that it always did. Even though he always knew it was coming, it still managed to knock him in the gut, leaving him winded and longing. He took her right hand in his left, and pulled her close to him with his right hand on her hip. Her left hand reached upward to find the back of his neck, her fingers lightly playing across his skin and through his hair.

He resisted a shiver of contentment at feeling her fingers in their irregular pattern of stroking and tapping and tracing. She gave a short laugh, noticing his apparent pleasure, and let her head come into contact with his chest, giving her the opportunity to note his steady, thrumping of a heartbeat. The beats were an undeniable comfort, a reassurance, a clear declaration to all the world that he was alive and that she was alive and that _they_ were alive _together_.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked, bringing his lips down to her ear. She had closed her eyes, reveling in his heartbeat's declaration, and didn't bother to open them when he asked. He found himself staring at the halo the dim lights left on the soft waves of her golden brown tresses.

"You can tell me anything, Danny," she stated. She inclined her head in his direction, as though she were to make eye contact, but they remained decidedly hidden behind their lids and their lengthy lashes.

Danny breathed out heavily, the sudden change in the direction of the breeze forcing strands of her hair to separate themselves from the others, to get lost in his breath. She opened her eyes then, the light giving them a shine that made his heart leap. She smiled widely at that, hearing it just as it happened.

"It's nice to know I'm appreciated," she laughed, pointing his irregular pattern out to him as though he hadn't noticed. It was clear that his heart appreciated her more than his brain, his body, ever could.

"Trust me," Danny simpered, "You've done much worse than that."

"Really?" She asked, with a certain conviction in her tone, in her spoken melody.

"The first time I was alone in a room with you, I couldn't breathe at all." She lifted an eyebrow at him, a doubtful expression settling over her face. He nodded his head, as if stating its truth with the bobbing of his head.

"I don't recall you passing out." He laughed.

"It's surprising I'm still alive, right?" She laughed. And their laughs together filled the air with another sort of music, one that blended, one that fit, one that felt right with the soft music, and the light rustling of the breeze, and their breathing, and their heartbeats. "If I hadn't been sitting down at the time, when you turned around and gave me that smile, I would've been on the ground."

"And why is that, Messer?"

"You'd knock the wind right out of any grown man, _Messer_," he replied, satisfaction laced in with the rumble of his voice. Calling her by her new name would never, ever cease to feel amazing, to sound amazing, to _be_ amazing. Saying the words 'Lindsay Messer' would always be glorious on the ears.

"I guess I can't really call you that any more, huh?" She gave a sheepish grin, shrugging her shoulders slightly.

"You can always call me that," he answered, "I just get to call you Messer right back, Linds."

"It's a small step up from Montana, I suppose," she stated with a look of thorough concentration, as if trying to gauge whether she truly felt that way or not. He shook his head with a chuckle, knowing that she enjoyed her nickname, whether she'd openly admit to it or not. Just another small piece of his ever growing puzzle of whatever it was about her that made him feel the way he did. "Danny?"

"Hm?" He acknowledge, though still lost in thought, still lost in trying to decide exactly what he wanted to say. But he was still fumbling for words, because the fact of the matter was that he couldn't find the words to say just how, exactly, her eyes could cut him so easily, so deeply. He couldn't explain how her lips could taste so sweet, like a fine red wine, like chocolate coating, like freshly picked, overly plump and juicy strawberries. He couldn't describe in full how the shape of her body, the length of her legs, the angle of her chin could so easily, so fully and completely turn him on. He couldn't describe why it was that she seemed to make his heart go completely haywire.

But she did.

"What did you want to tell me?" She asked, lifting her eyes to meet his again, and the slicing feeling returned, and his heart jumped erratically, and she smiled at hearing its wild beat contrasting so apparently with the slow, soft, and steady music drifting toward their ears. He looked down at her and tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, tried to find the right words, tried to capture her and him and all that they were together.

But he couldn't.

"I love you," was all he could manage. Those three words weren't nearly enough, they never were, but no matter how many times he tried to put whatever it was into words it always came out like that.

Always.

"I love you, too, Danny," she leaned up and he leaned down, their lips meeting somewhere in the middle. And when they settled back down he pulled her closer to him, before the music had suddenly changed and took off on a wild beat of its own, as if attempting to match his heartbeats. She had laughed, and he spun her about.

He _didn't_ know what it was about her that made his heart go crazy, taking on a life all its own, but he _did_ know that he was assuredly, conclusively, inescapably in love with her.

Because Lindsay Monroe Messer had whatever it is.

_X-posted to livejournal._

_The song's good, so you should listen to that, if you feel so inclined. I realize that now they're randomly married, but these are one-shots and are bound to be entirely out of order, because I'm entirely random like that. Anyway, I hope you like it, it's sort of jumpy as far as what's going on, I think, but…there you go. Also, can I just point out it's kind of weird it is that I'd rather right from a third person limited perspective on Danny than Lindsay. And, yes, using the word 'conclusively' to describe their love was absolutely necessary.  
_

_**nikki.02: **__Ha, sorry, that tends to happen a lot in my one-shots, because they always have to end where they end…Thanks! :)_

_**afrozenheart412: **__I'm glad you liked them. ;) Hm, the haircut was welcome and the aviators were just plain hot. Thanks for reviewing again; I love 'em. :)_

_Thanks for reading, and, if you're feeling up for it, feel free to leave a review. :)_

_-Piper_


	4. Sounds

**Disclaimer: I don't own CSI: New York, Danny Messer, or Lindsay Monroe.**

There were hundreds upon thousands of sounds that easily reminded one of the other. Steady rhythmic heartbeats, the clicking sounds of boots and heels on tile, on wood, on concrete, the sounds of beeping and whirring machines. The sounds of soft, contented breathing that rose up when they would watch each other sleep, and the contradictory sounds of heavy, labored breathing emitted when they were doing their duty out in the field or were locked together behind closed doors.

There were sounds that would paint pictures across their brains, sounds that would make them ache for the presence of the other, and sounds that would make them close their eyes just to fully take it in. Motorcycles always made her spin about, made her feel a little breathless, like her existence was riding on that one sound entirely in that moment. Rain on his window pane always made drew his attention from whatever it was he was doing, and he would watch and listen, and sometimes he could almost convince himself that with every splatter of water on the cool glass he was sitting next to was her voice, whispering things to him.

And ring tones would make their hearts leap up into their throats. Songs and singers and lyrics and words, and their names in the pitches of the others voice was heaven. There were other sounds, too. Mundane sounds that typically occurred during holidays or sounds of effects in movies or music.

But there was one sound they had both come to enjoy with every fiber of their being, one sound that they spent hoping to hear again, because hearing that sound meant they were together and doing what they loved to do. While he would grin at the possibility that he was defacing something that wasn't entirely his, city property, and could easily put it off to an accidental thing, she would roll her eyes, but secretly enjoy the noise as much as he did.

It was a rarity, in general, though if they had both been entirely determined to create the noise, it wouldn't have been difficult. Instead they settled for forgetting and remembering again when it happened. His grin would widen every time, and, while she tried to bite her lip, her smile would, too. It couldn't be helped, anyway. The sound of metal on metal, blue and gold scratching at one another couldn't be avoided.

Or at least that's what they liked to pretend. It could easily be fixed, if he were to switch his from his right to his left or if she would switch from the left to the right. But neither was willing to give up their habit. Not that they hadn't tried. They had. Before they realized how wonderful it sounded.

The first time he'd leaned down, and the second time she'd reached up, and both times their hips had rubbed against one another in the need to be as close as humanly, physically, scientifically possible, even as their tongues danced in the other's mouth, or their lips rang along jaw lines, cheek bones, or the dips in their skin near their collarbones.

And there were times when the sound had been so entirely absent from their current lives, that they had gotten so caught up in being between the living and the dying that they would find one another through the open glass walls and know what the other wanted, and would find themselves standing in a secluded corner, an empty lab, in the break room, in an office.

He would grin and she would try not to smile, and they would both lean toward each other, eyes closed, with the sound of metal on metal ringing in their ears.

_X-posted at livejournal._

_Blame it on my recent fascination with who wears their badge where, and the sudden realization that they wear theirs on opposite sides, which, when they're facing each other, would mean they'd be in the same place. Hence. Sorry it's so short; it was a seriously random idea._

_**nikki.02: **__I'm sure this'll get updates randomly all the time, especially when the new season comes out. I'm glad you like it, though, and thanks for reviewing! :)_

_**afrozenheart412: **__Oh, thanks so much! I feel like I have more focus on Danny most of the time (because who's not in love with Carmine?), but I'm glad you think I'm getting Lindsay across, too. ;) And thank you very much for leaving me a review!_

_And thanks to everybody else who's reading this!_

_-Piper_


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